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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE ^- 

PERFUME HOLDER 

A PERSIAN LOVE POEM 
BY CRAVEN LANGSTROTH 

DCXXQ '*^. '*^- ^«^- ^^^' ^*^- ^*^- '*^' 



SECOND EDITION 



MONARCH PRESS, 

PUBLISHERS 

38 COOPER SQUARE. NEW YORK. 

1910 



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Copyrighf hf 
CRAVEN LANGSTROTH BETT§. 



©CI.A25B7G3 



TO 

EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSQN. 



This poem is derived from a prose story, called ** Selim, 

the Unsociable," by Arthur Kennedy and originally published 

in Temple Bar. 

C. L. B. 






THE PERFUME-HOLDER 




^. ROUD Naishapur, two hundred years ago, 
9M Inviolate from the galHng Turkish foe, 

Like a warm opal dropped from Allah's hand, 
Lay glimmering on the green Khorassan land. 
Girdling the South, the desert's sandy coil 
Strangled the verdure and oppressed the soil ; 
But East and North the languorous noon-day breeze 
Lifted the leaves of lime and tamarind trees 
Over the hills, within whose broken row 
The gleaming city watched the river flow. 
Along the camel track from Ispahan, 
Came tinklings of the nearing caravan. 
Trailing its parched, dust-cumbered passage down 
Into the market of the wealthv town. 



Piercing the vibrant ether, bold to view, 

A hundred minarets burned athv^art the bkie ; 

The purple roofs of mosques, like sunset isles, 

Blazed all their panoply of porcelain tiles. 

While from the walls the names of Allah shone 

In many a scrolled and squared device of stone. 

Color and light loomed everywhere ; their glow 

Burnished the booths and houses, row on row ; 

They flamed across the palace court-yard flags 

And blazoned even the cringing beggar's rags. 

The darkling ponds and fountains steely-cold 

The sun's keen alchemy changed to shimmering gold ; 

And marble cupolas and awnings white 

Flashed forth all splendid with reflected light : 

While green pomegranate leaf and pregnant vine 

Gained prouder lustre from the teeming shine. 

All earth was bathed in palpitating heat ; 

The sun-rays searched enclosure, lane, and street. 

And streamed along the cream-white painted walls 

Of gardens and the roofs of market stalls. 

Spreading one glare of yellow radiance down 

O'er hill and vallev, desert, wood, and town. 




IGH noon in Naishapur ! — the gay bazaars. 
Heaped with their wares wrought under half 

the stars, 
One ant-like, huge, conglomerate market made, 
Coursed with a hundred throbbing veins of trade. 
Yet the loud buzz of traffic even there 
Sinks at the high Muezzin's call to prayer, 
While so oppressive grows the blaze of day 
That even the water carriers shirk the way. 
A little longer swirls the busy bruit 
About the cofifee stalls and booths of fruit ; 
A moment longer does the merchant stop, 
Claps-to the slender shutters of his shop. 
Then in his flapping slippers homeward hies 
To prayer, to pipe, to Fatima's dark eyes. 
In the brass-worker's noisy, bright bazaar 
Hushed are the chaffering and the hammer's jar. 
And silence settling o'er earth's fevered face, 
Soothes for an hour the throbbing market-place. 




NE man, a poor artificer in brass. 

Stirs not as forth the hurrying vendors pass 
But soon as quiet breathes along the street, 
Springs from his leathern cushion to his feet, 



Lays by the lantern he had shaped that day, 
Looks out along the cleared, deserted way, 
Takes down the bowl of curds and loaf of bread 
That stand upon the shelf above his head, 
Hooks up a curtain o'er his small retreat 
Which opens full upon the busy street, 
Casts one more glance along the farther wall. 
Then hides himself behind the portal-shawl. 




NE might have heard within that curtain soon 
A tapping through the hot and quiet noon : 
A strange man this — mayhap for love of gain 
He works mid-day when all for rest are fain ? 
Such was his custom, and the passers by 
Had ceased to scan him with a curious eye. 
The gossips had no tale of him to tell ; 
They named him Selim the Unsociable. 
Too poor for note of even the idlest there 
Was he, and why he spent the hour of prayer 
Behind his curtain, save for rest and shade. 
None knew or cared ; few were that sought his trade. 
'Twould seem such anxious privacy and heed 
Had little use; the street was bare, indeed, 
Save vagrant dogs that strewed the shining track. 




Like pious Aloslems sleeping in a pack. 
Snarling in dream, because the heated bricks 
In poignant fancy smote them like the kicks 
Of Allah's Faithful — snapping jaws in pain 
Then stretching out their quivering legs again. 



HO treads with silent pace the empty street, 
Then halts and hearkens to that hammer's 

beat? 
Well might you mark him by his furtive eye 
A friend to Falsehood, grasping, shrewd and sly. 
To Selim's booth he moves, he makes a stand, 
The curtain raises with a stealthy hand 
And peers within ; the sudden shaft of light 
Flashes a marvelous work upon his sight ; 
For lo, between the craftsman's bended knees, 
Prouder than aught that Shah or Sultan sees. 
With lines of purest arabesque enscrolled, 
A perfume-holder, rich as burnished gold. 
Wrought all in brass, cut round with lace designs. 
With mottoes graved between the flowing lines ; 
Of antique mould the base ; superbly fair 
The swelling bowl ; and like a lily in air 
The stem rose curving ; and its feet were wrought 



With cunning art from Indian carvers caught. 
A miracle of rare and patient art, 
Informed by genius ripening from the heart, 
Such as might Hft the incense at the shrine 
Of Allah or of Mahomet the Divine. 
One might forego all sense save that of sight, 
The life-long master of that heart's delight. 




OU in the cloud-spanned, amethystine West, 
Know not w^hat ceremonious, prideful zest 
The Persian in his mastless, azure air, 
Brings to his perfume even as 'twere his prayer. 
The perfume-holder, no effeminate whim. 
Holds ever first and honored place with him ; 
Drop on the powder but some glowing coals, 
Lo, from its bowl the spiralled perfume rolls ; 
Dear unto Allah as the mingled breath 
Of lovers passing through the gates of death. 



O lie awake in one bliss-haunted dream 
Where leaves are rustling and cool fountains 

gleam. 
Within a vine-hung, lustrous colonnade. 
While near, some laroe-eved, love-enchanted maid 




10 



Leans, lily-crowned, against a marble jar, 

Caressing languidly her light guitar. 

Her fingers glancing o'er the shimmering strings 

Like play of moonbeams on deep bubbling springs, 

'Wooing the soul of melody divine 

From murmuring streams and groves of haunted pine, 

Her bosom lifting to the waves of sound 

That have in one delicious languor drowned 

The outer sense, leaving the spirit free 

To revel in one swoon-like ecstasy — 

And then to watch the pungent vapor curl 

With many a slender and fantastic swirl 

Swung through the vibrant music, till the air 

Freighted with tinkling sounds and odors rare 

Filters soul-deep within the fleshly mail, 

Till, rapt, escaping from the body's jail, 

The spirit issuing through its portal flies 

To fairy realms of wonder and surmise — 

Such were indeed a taste of Paradise ! 




MALL thought of this had he, that sordid spy, 
Who on the masterpiece cast curious eye. 
He was a merchant, trained to every guile 
Of trade, — to fawn, to browbeat, and to smile 



11 



Careful to hold, in every scheme he tried 

Of fraud or rapine, law upon his side. 

His talon fingers in their crawling clutch 

Pulled forth the shadowing curtain overmuch, 

And Selim, of his presence made aware. 

Looked up and met the intruder's searching stare, 

And frowning, marked the sordid ruthless trace 

Of avarice on the man's ill-omened face. 

Then spoke the stranger with a smile compressed,- 

" Selim, has Allah made the time of rest 

Too long, or given too brief a working day, 

That thus you toil the noontide hour away?" 

As some proud courser that with action grand 

Tosses aside a strange caressing hand, 

So Selim threw his head back at the word, 

For hateful to him was the voice he heard, 

And answered: ''Surely little rest doth lie 

With him, O merchant, who with delving eye 

Looks either in broad noon or yet at night 

On that which others fain would keep from sight. 

It naught concerns my business to attest 

Wherefore I work at mid-day or I rest." 



12 




E set aside the wonder-work of art 

And waited for the questioner to depart. 
Whose sidelong, hovering glance was cast about 
Nor rested but to mark the vessel out. 
He named a price, but Selim shook his head ; 
"Why squander words? 'Tis not for sale," he said. 
The other, following his practiced guile, 
Answered with fawning, unbelieving smile: 
"I have a friend, named Marco, from the North, 
Dealer in finished brass, who ventures forth 
From Venice even to the farthest East; 
He'd give the price of many a lordly feast 
For such a thing as this, would'st thou but sell?" 
But Selim no persuasion might compel 
To barter; wrathful to be thus addressed, 
He locked his treasure in a cedar chest, 
Then to the merchant lifted, one by one, 
The simpler works of brass that he had done, — 
They were but few, — till forth the chafiferer went 
And left him with his solitude content. 

UT he, the stranger, when he passed from sight 
Of Selim's booth, his face set hard and white. 
Halted, with fingers clenched and frowning 
brow, 




13 



And pondered deep, as one who frames a vow. 

The swart Egyptian boy who lounged before 

A rich brass-dealer's widely-swinging door 

Watched with a keen and curious surmise 

The wicked purpose in the crafty eyes. 

For every gesture, every glance betrayed 

The heart of greed whose hand would not be stayed. 




STRIDENT voice came, calling from afar 
The hour of work; at once the clattering jar 
Of hammers rose again athwart the air, 
The seething throng poured back into the fair, 
And through its alleys swirled the babbling flood, 
Like buzzing bees a-swarm within a wood. 
But Selim, through his resting hour intent 
And keenly active, languid now, was bent 
Above the brass-work, as though toil were grown 
Distasteful to him since the noon had flown. 
His hammer strokes, less eager, blow by blow, 
Dropped on the brass, grew slower, still more slow, 
And oft he clasped his brow and closed his eyes. 
Bruised by the coarse discordant market cries ; 
Then with a start, as if in self-disdain, 
Caught up the unfinished lantern once again. 

14 



T was a hot and glaring afternoon ; 

Through the bazaar the hum Hke a bassoon 
Surged constant; presently a clamorous throng 
Came, booming with the beat of drum and gong, 
While, blaring fitfully, the snorting blast 
Of trumpets on the scorching air was cast. 
The gathering scuff of many slippered feet 
Came now low-looming down the dusty street. 
The loiterers left the shadow of the walls, 
Lured by the shouts and boisterous trumpet-calls. 
The hammer-smiths and chafferers paused as dashed 
The flaunting pageant forth and by them flashed. 
The last Shah's eldest son, 'twas bruited wide, 
Was riding to the mosque to pledge his bride; — 
Next to the Shah, the first of Persian land, 
And named The-Shadozv-of-fhe-Snltan's-Hand. 
A royal graft on humble stock whose sword 
Some daring day might make him Iran's lord. 



UT Selim, hooded in one changeless thought, 
Scarce heard the tattle that the gossips brought. 
None sought to cross an easy word with him; 
They deemed his silence but a surly whim. 
He, caring little what was thought or said, 

15 




So that they left him quiet, with bowed head, 

BHnd to all else, held survey in his mind 

One memory with his inmost soul entwined. 

The incompleted lantern he let lie ; 

The words of rumor as they floated by 

Blent with his dream : "The flower of Iran's land 

Is his beloved." He sighed, looked at his hand. 

Then from his finger, slowly and in pain. 

Unwrapped a narrow linen. He was fain 

To draw still further backward from the sting" 

Of passing eyes. A tiny hammered thing' 

Of brass, close-twisted to a biting ring, 

Around his finger showed, whose tissue, red. 

Twinged to the pressure of the figured shred. 

He wet the cloth, replaced it, while a chime 

Of thoughts went swinging backward to the time 

When she, pale lily of his heart, had stept 

Across the doorway where his goods were kept. 

And in a playful, blithely-mocking vein, 

Had given him this circled pledge of pain. 

Ay, he remembered, how upon that morn 

He felt — all wonder, joy — his soul was born I 

How he had gazed upon her laughing eyes 

As at a Peri wafted from the skies. 

Fairer than houri to the bosom pressed 

16 



Of Mahomet in the regions of the Blest. 
Except those eyes, each glittering like a star, 
Her face was veiled, as in the white cymar 
She glided through the market; oft by chance 
Caught the obeisance and adoring glance 
Of Selim, sitting laboring in his booth; 
And as she viewed the trembling rose of youth 
Throw signal on his cheek, she smiled, again 
Returned him salutation; now and then 
Loitered some moments at his little stall, 
And then with innocent art by letting fall 
some corner of her veil, in hide-and-seek, 
Revealed the sweet curved vision of her cheek 
Of ripening olive, like the moon in mist, 
And rose-red lips half parting to be kissed. 




NE day — one of those few thrice happy days 
That star perchance a lifetime — his amaze 
Burning his face, and hope still hopeless all. 
Rallying his heart to Love's unreasoning call- 
She came to visit Selim and to buy 
Some trinkets of his patient industry. 
Lingering she stayed an hour; she bade him tell 
The way he wrought the brass ; with playful spell 

17 



Now drew from him the use of lead and pitch ; 
Then took the die and punch and bade him teach 
Her hand to cut the ductile metal through; 
One little die she held, 'twas virgin new ; 
A tink whorl the pattern was ; she tried 
To punch a strip of brass, while he, to hide 
Her slender fingers from an errant blow. 
Shielded them with his ampler hand, and so 
As once the stroke she missed and still again, 
Still he rejoiced for her he suffered pain. 
At length she gave him back the die ; he swore 
With words of fire, no one should use it more 
Except himself, nor he but on some gift 
For her: then she, her laughing eyes uplift 
To Selim's face, and with a doubting air 
Mocking his earnestness, yet told him where 
A kinsman dwelt, whose hand would duly take 
The present he might fashion for her sake. 
Then did her mood to childlike humor pass ; 
Again she took a tiny shred of brass 
And twisting it with pincers in a ring 
Round Selim's finger tightly, tried to bring 
Mischievously, across the strong man's face 
A twinge of pain, and smiling left the place. 



18 



ND Selim, never from that hour at rest, 
Had shrined her lovely image in his breast ; 
A few more times she passed his open door 
Seeking the market, but she smiled no more 

Upon him, though his eyes with hunger sued ; 

That one brief meeting never was renewed. 





OW his roused purpose to one issue ran : 
Upon that day he straight for her began 
A perfume-holder, lavishing his fond heart 
Upon it ; for it eased him of his smart 
To feel he wrought her service, and to see 
Its beauty heightening, as some stately tree 
Spreads in the desert, when with the patterned whorl 
He would its richly shining face impearl 
With tiny insets glimmering to the view. 
Fashioned to let the writhing vapor through. 
One name for her he had and only one : 
At each moon-end, his task more nearly done. 
He muttered as with care he placed apart 
The gift, '"Tis for The Star-of-Selim's Heart ;" 
The star that touched the wan, the lonely sky 
Of his rapt spirit, and then passed him by. 



19 




ND now 'twas finished — every tiny scroll 

Wrought perfect; but the work in Selim's soul 
Was never finished, but incessant beat 
Upon his heart, while through the mid-day heat 



The hammers with their clinking, changeless chime, 
Dinned out their symphonies to unresting Time. 



E took the cunning tool, the delicate die 

That formed the whorl, and with a gloomy eye 
Defaced its pattern with his file and cast 
The steel, disfeatured, on the street, then passed 

One hand across his brow to smoothe its pain, 

And took the unfinished lantern up again. 





VEN as he worked a warm Elysian dream 
Closed o'er him like a sunset, gleam on gleam. 
Upon the wings of passion forth he flew 
To clasp her where, unknown to her, in view 
Of fancy he had held her ; — next the note 
Of vision changed; he saw her vestments float 
Snow-white through flower-strewn ways, and on her face 
A pleading look, as one who asks for grace; 
For she was now the seeker, and he — where? 
He knew not, cared not, nor could seem to care ; 



20 



But down the eddying current of his swound 

A veiled form came that told him "I have found 

My perfume-holder;" straightway he was made 

The perfume-holder; smiling then she laid 

Caressing hands upon it, and did speak 

It fair, and pressed it to her velvet cheek. 

And, like to Allah's blessing, letting fall 

Her silk of hair around in shining pall ; 

And over all— the night without a frown, 

And the white moon and stars were shining down. 

Then for one moment, through the hammered brass 

He felt his soul, the soul of Selim, pass 

And tremble to the magic of her touch. 

The moment sped ; there fell low voices, such 

As Allah sends to true believers, when 

He whispers of the crooked ways of men. 

That called, ''O Selim! Where is Selim?'' Soon 

A sweet known voice made answer like a tune. 

"I will find Selim, for I know him by 

The ache within his finger" ; then the sky 

Sank, burdened with the sorrow and the pain 

Of blighted souls that on sad earth remain ; 

So, forth went that fair form that held the voice 

Among them, seeking, till she found her choice, 

Selim'.s all-constant pain : with that bega^i 

21 



By the dream-power the building- of a man 

Like SeHm, yet unhke ; the half-things fell 

And crumbled in the falling; but the spell 

Kept on till, lo, the finish — head to feet! 

Then for some moments Selim was complete. 

Sitting in the bazaar, his right hand laid 

Across his hammer, and the lantern stayed 

Between his knees ; but nowhere now was seen 

The Star-of-Selim's-Heart — naught but the sheen 

Of brass-ware, and the crowd that thronged again 

The market, babbling of the marriage-train. 

'Twas but some moments more — and the bazaar 

Vanished again — upon an ivory car 

He sits, the enchanting lady by his side. 

Lo, she is wreathed with roses like a bride ! 

Bright as Ayesha in the Courts of Day; 

Pearled like a dewy lily in the ray 

Of morning. Like the Shah's his kaftan white 

Flames with a diamond, a deep fount of light, 

A Sultan's ransom ; forth in state they ride 

Midst cheers that surge around them like a tide, 

Drawn by a gold-and-crimson-harnessed span 

Of cream-white horses, (such at Ispahan 

Speeds the Shah prayer-ward on great days of state) 

So move they proudly to their blissful fate : 

22 



Flowers rain upon them and their coursers' feet 
Stamp cloth of gold, as down the echoing street 
They press unto their nuptials — till a band 
With him, The Shadow-of-the-Sultan's-Hand, 
Fronts them with challenge ; straight a conflict grows — - 
The prince hath claimed the bride^ — tumult and blows 
Bring blood and death : — Now Selimi wounded lies, 
His bride and jewel both the prince's prize. 




GAIN the vision changed ; his memory fought 
Against oblivion, for his mind was wrought 
Still with his finger-ache ! Then she again 
Is with him on a wild storm-wasted plain. 
A ponderous iron mace he grasps in hand ; 
Forth like the mighty Rustem doth he stand. 
Sheathed in full mail ; to a tremendous round 
Of burnished brass his aching arm is bound ; 
A company of leprous devils shout 
Against him ; and amidst that evil rout, 
Two Sheitans, fierce and terrible to view 
As the White Demon god-like Rustem slew. 



23 



UT the sweet lady, she has naught of fear, — 
She loves him ; to his wounded hand draws near 
And kisses it ; then the Sheitans howl in scorn ; 
'While he, alike with love and passion torn, 
Rushes, deep cursing, at the hideous pair. 
And closing on them heaves his mace in air. 





HEN suddenly he woke — the finger's paui 
Stung him awake — now in his stall again, 
A poor brass-worker, his bright vision flown, 
Unloved, ignoble, scorned, reviled, alone. 
A laughing, jeering crowd around him kept, 
For he had moved and muttered as he slept ; 
And lo! amidst the laughter loud and long, 
The slime-tongued merchant, foremost of the throng, 
Faced him: *'0 Selim, your brave dreams must spin 
From poppy-head, or some old potent bin 
Of purple Shiraz ! Those who hashish eat 
Like fakirs play thus to the crowded street 
More strange adventures than were ever sung 
By great Firdusi of the silver tongue." 
Then pausing, while the brutal mirth ran high, 
And Selim, too bewildered to reply — 
*'I. too. can dream, though scarce of lady's lips. 



24 



And battle, but of merchandise and ships ; 

For, while in sleep I rested this mid-day, 

I dreamed that Selim came and heard him say, 

'Here, take thy perfume-holder — I would feast ; 

Bring forth thy bezants, be thy name increased; 

Or sell to Marco, if so be thy will, 

To profit thee and me ; I'll drink my fill 

Of pleasure ; let me flourish and be gay 

And kiss the maid that I have won to-day.' 

Here sits my Selim mooning in his booth ; 

Say, has my vision spoken aught but truth?" 

Said Selim : "All I sell is in your view, 

I have no perfume-holder here for you." 

The knavish merchant made him this repeat, 

With crafty leading, to the crowded street. 

Yet once more he began — "But dreams are sent 

From Allah." "Some, not yours" — then Selim bent 

His eye full on him, "I have these to sell. 

If so that you would purchase it is well, 

You shall have value just and good ; I need 

Money to-morrow ; be the price agreed. 

Or if my wares you want not, pray you cease 

And leave me, in the Name of Whom be Peace." 

Then did the merchant buy of Selim's art 

Some pieces, lothful with his coin to part; 

25 



And took his leave, while Selim, richer grown 
By a few silver coins, did little own 
For merchandise, save what discarded lay. 
The unfinished lantern Now he worked away 
Fiercely upon it, that his wearied thought 
Might cease its whispering, and Time be brought 
To mend his pace. So, till the market gate 
Was ready to be closed, he lingered late 
At labor; rising then with anxious care 
He fastened tight the little shutters where 
The treasured gift, his pride and solace stood; 
Then paced the unfriendly street in restless mood. 



HAT night ill-boding dreams without surcease 
Assailed his spirit, crucified his peace. 
That one short night seemed fraught v/ith 
danger more 
Than all the hundred nights that went before 
While he his treasure in the chest had kept 
In that deserted market-place. He slept 
Fitfully, briefly, now that once he knew 
A bad man lusted for it; then he threw 
His clothes upon him; wandered up and down 
The winding streets and alleys of the town, 




26 



Still ever passing where his treasure lay 
Behind the palisades which barred the way 
To the brass-worker's moonlit, still bazaar. 
Up raced the savage watch-dogs barking war, 
Leaped at the gate which held twixt them and him 
As though they fain had torn him limb from' limb. 
A watchman with his lantern, on his rounds, 
Drew near, attracted by the clamoring hounds. 
Saw Selim, knew him, and passed otherwhere ; 
While he, with bodeful brow, kept gazing there 
Between the bars, w^here one long shadow fell 
Across his shop — a lonely sentinel. 
Thus aimlessly until the dawn of day 
He wore the weary hours of night away. 




CARCE did the market open than his door 
He opened too ; then hammered as before 
At the half-finished lantern ; next took down 
The perfume-holder, wrapped it, that the town 
Might not view what he carried; then returned 
All quickly home. With what the brass-ware earned 
He clothed himself in festival array 
As though it were for some high holiday; 
Tied with deft hand the perfume-holder, too, 

27 



Within a broidered silk of creamy hue, 

Wherein he placed a scented billet writ 

In flowing verses when some rhyming fit 

Had seized his spirit in the silent night; 

This a caligrapher did fairly write, 

With many a courteous phrase of love profound; 

And various woven flowers the border bound. 




EHOLD the eager Selim as he stands, 
The perfume-holder lifted in his hands, 
Apparelled fair, ready to play his part 
Of service to the mistress of his heart. 
The full fine head-cloth of white hand-wove stuff, 
Broidered with glimmering gold and threads of buff, 
About a cone of yellow camlet winds ; 
Below, a snow-white linen skull-cap binds 
With narrow line his temples, showing fair 
Above his bronzed face and coal-black hair; 
His head is straight, symmetric, small of size, 
As of a steed alert, and his dark eyes 
Are lustrous like a steed's ; an eager grace 
Plays in the outlines of his mobile face; 
The lips are proudly set, the nostrils fine. 
The features delicate and aquiline; 

28 



His tunic like the turban white, each fold 

Of Hnen with its waving Unes of gold; 

A knife-case in the silken shawl is placed 

Whose graceful folds wind round his slender waist ; 

From far Cashmere to Shiraz shall you see 

No statelier, no braver youth than he. 




HE messenger he gained for his emprise 

Was an old woman, good, discreet, and wise 
But ask not of the look on Selim's face 
As in her hands the love-gift he did place, 
Or while he watched her dragging steps depart 
To her, the sovereign of young Selim's heart ! 
He stood in trance while heart and visage burned, 
Waiting until the ancient dame returned. 




LOVE, thou pole-star of all souls — proud dream 
Of bliss ! dread ruler, passionate and extreme ! 
In thy closed hand are wealth, fame, life, and 
death ; 



Self at thy heart, self-sacrifice thy breath ; 
The clown thou makest king, the king a clown ; 
Thou turnest cowards brave, and with thv frown 



29 



The man of blood is quelled ; yea, even the clutch 
Of avarice groping for the overmuch 
Yields to thy smile and to thy promise sweet 
Strews its blood-sweated bezants at thy feet; 
But when a heart like Selim's owns thy power 
He is all slave, all votary from that hour ! 




E stood and waited ; years it seemed went by ; 
The glare of mid-day paled across the sky; 
The hum of distant traffic ebbed away, 
And o'er the hills the flame-born god of day 
Seemed to halt yearningly ere, passed from sight. 
He left the lovely city to the night. 
Selim stood, waited ; — back she came at last ; 
There was no need to question her, he cast 
One look between her hands where she did lift 
Trembling to meet his gaze the unopened gift, 
Saying, "The lady by the Shah's command 
Is w^ed — The Shadow-of-the-Sultan's-Hand !" 




HE words struck Selim speechless, he had known 
One joy in life, a dream, his, his alone. 
And he had drank it with a royal art, 
Like Jamshid, till the wakening stung his heart ; 



30 



His head fell forward, for some breathless space 

The blow was deathening; ghastly white in face 

He tottered toward the door like one in 3^ears, 

Borne down with grief that scorched the fount of tears. 

Grasping convulsively the brazen jar, 

He found himself again in the bazaar, 

The while with quivering lips, distractedly, 

He muttered texts of old philosophy, 

Groping for consolation, but no heed 

Could give them — ah, how often in our need, 

When earth is black beneath the blackened skies, 

They fail, those deep proud sayings of the wise ! 




ET through his agony w^as woven a tune 

Of words that clogged his tongue — as 'twere 

some rune 
Hammering its dreadful rhythm through his 



brain — 
And mingled with his bitter draught of pain : 

''The Cup of Life with wine or zvormzvood Hozvs, 
The Leaves of Life keep falling, and the Rose 
Whether at Babylon or at Naishapur, 
Fades, and her garden mate unheeding blows." 

31 




HESE were the words of one in Selim's town, 
Gone long before, a sage of wide renown, 
Who learned the mystic law^ that moves the stars. 
But yet whose soul, foiled at life's prison bars, 

Testing the hollowness of earthly state, 

Mocked sadly at irrevocable fate; 

And, spite of fame and power by learning won. 

Re-wrote the olden tale of Solomon, 

Chanting the hopeless burden o'er again, 

" 'Tis vain — the life we live, like death, is vain !" 




ND Selim turned to work, because he felt 
His reason totter as he slowly spelt 
The branding of the blow upon his soul ; 
In work, unceasing work, he might control 
The anguish of his heart, and so — vain, vain 
The miserable days that must remain ! 
He had forgot or had not cared to change 
His holiday vestments ; down the sun-baked range 
Of the bazaar the whole brass-working tribe 
Broke forth upon him with loud laugh and gibe 
That bit not like the fangs of anguish grim, 
Yet like a swarm of gnats they worried him. 
Yearning to be alone, his soul was wronged 



32 



As round his path the coarse mechanics thronged 
With mock obeisance, gestures rude, uncouth, 
Jeering, as they pursued them to his booth — 
For httle love they bore him. "Taunt him well ! 
Is he not Selim the Unsociable, 
Too proud to mingle with his equals?" There 
They crowded close to see how he would stare — ■ 
For a dire chance had happened him : thus he, 
Unto his small store staggered heavily. 




IS booth was plundered ; all his wares were gone ! 
Far worse — his tools ! He could not think upon 
Their loss. Their value was not great, but dear 
Almost as were his fingers ; misery drear 
Drifted across him ; only now remained 
The unfinished lantern, but deformed and stained, 
As though the plunderer held its value light 
And with his heel had crushed it out of spite. 




LONG time he sat, there in his little shop. 
Still as an image of stone, his head a-prop 
Upon his hands, a ruined man, bereft 
Of all he held most dear. To him was left, 



33 



When he a Httle cleared his mind to think, 
(His cup filled full, with madness at the brink), 
Only the gift returned which he still held. 
The perfume-holder; now is he compelled 
To purchase bread and tools ; now must he go 
And from the merchant buv a lease of woe. 




LINDNESS and deafness fell on eye and ear, 
Confounding all, nor grew his sense more clear 
As he went stumbling to the merchant's stand, 
The empty pledge of his false hope in hand. 
The place of sale with merchandise was rich ; 
Fine armor blazed from bracket, hook, and niche; 
Sabres from Samarcand and costly shawls 
From Indian looms were hanging on the walls ; 
And Orient ivories, carvings from the Isles 
Within their lacquered cabinets stood in files. 
The shelves were heaped with stuffs of rich brocade ; 
Mirrors of steel with silver frames inlaid 
With jewels, glittering daggers, hookahs fine, 
And all the costly wares of Levantine 
And Indian markets crowded all the space. 
As Selim gazed in wonder round the place 
Coarse faces covered him with leering scan, 

34 



Fit tools of service to the sordid man 

Whose slaves they were, and downcast Selim felt 

The transient courage he had groped for melt 

Whole from his heart ; his one despairing thought 

Sowed desolation ; things against him wrought 

In foul conspiracy. The merchant now 

Began with lowering and contemptuous 1>row 

To underprice, to scorn, to villify, 

What he had been so eager once to buy. 

Then asking Selim what his need might be. 

He told him he would take for surety 

The brazen jar and lend him ; sadly then 

Said Selim, 'T need brass and tools again 

To carry on my trade." The merchant's smile 

Changed to a cold and stealthy look of guile 

As forth he brought a well-assorted pack 

Of half- worn tools; but Selim started back, 

Then clutched — the things were his ! Faintness did seize 

Upon him, he felt his very life-blood freeze 

And shrivel ; distant, indistinct, and small, 

Looked all things round him ; darkness seemed to fall 

And deathly coldness, blotting earth and sky, 

As though the wing of Asrael brushed him by. 

Suddenly loomed the merchant's hateful face 

Close o'er his own, in horrible grimace; 

35 



Forth sprang two monstrous hands that straightway lay 

Grasp on his brazen treasure and away 

Bore it in triumph to a distant shelf; 

Then rushed the hot fit on — he flung himself 

In rage against the servants — wildly fought — 

Until his mind some little space was brought 

To hear men's voices dwindling through the dim, 

From faces that he knew ; these said of him 

"Such master work as this is, cannot be 

That foolish Selim's ;'' sure were these that he 

(Wrought nothing of the kind ; they knew him well 

And all his work ; he yesterday did tell 

He owned not such a thing; and as he strove, 

Struggling to right himself, they dragged and drove 

Him forth, and nothing but a whirl was there 

Of dust and pressure, anger, and despair; 

Blows rained upon himi; one last cruel stroke 

Brought blood — he fell — and then his spirit broke ! 




HE who had been to one unhappy heart 
The lode-star of its being, sat apart 
In the zenana's curtained privacy, 
A married captive, never to be free. 



36 




But o'er The Shadow-of-the-Siiltan's-Hand 

Some time she ruled ; the heart she could command 

Of that fierce fighter in his pleasant mood: 

A second wife in sovereign solitude, 

All gave her homage, all her triumph graced. 

Even she, the first wife, whom she had displaced. 



HE Shadow-of-the-Sultan's-Hand at first 
Was courteous and devoted, but he nursed 
Higher ambition than in flowers to bind 
His spirit to service of one girlish mind 
However enchanting, for his heart was set 
On deeds of violence ; he could ne'er forget 
The feud, the blood-lust that was his from birth. 
He was a bold, intrepid son of earth, 
A graceful tiger in a leash of silk. 
As mild and pleasant as the coco's milk 
Till call for action came ; — a lion-hunt, 
In which he scorned the danger, chose the brunt, 
Or vision of booty and some vengeful raid 
Into Afghanistan, more often swayed 
The councils of his heart, than any charms 
He found within the circle of her arms. 
.\nd she, poor lonely discontented dove. 



Brooded on this, and dreamed had she through love 

Been so far favored in her lot, to fall 

Unto that heart where she was all in all — 

However lowly, howso'er distressed 

B}^ circumstance, by poverty oppressed — 

Life had been happier even with such an one, 

Than that now passed with this proud monarch's son. 

She was unlike the frivolous, tranquil crew 

Who chattered round about her; often grew 

Intolerable to her vivacious mind 

The still zenana — health and spirit pined. 

But came distress far greater when, one day, 

Returning from some distant, wide foray 

Into Afghanistan, her husband brought 

A captive home, who now held all his thought. 

The superseded wife grew languid, pale ; 

Till, part by some new thought to countervail 

Her long depression, part, that she consult 

A famed astrologer, whose art occult 

In all that region was most noted, they 

Who lived about her counselled her one day. 

She should a few leagues' distant journey take^ 

The drear monotony of her life to break. 

Beyond the turquoise hills and level land 

That fringed the province with its shifting sand. 

38 




OOR lonely star of one lone heart ! the love 
^Ja Her heart still yearned for like that heaven 

above 
The Prankish women sought — she had not 

dreamed 
That it had crossed her ; its pale radiance gleamed, 
A heavenly vision through her falling tears, 
Fairer as loomed the vista of the years ! 
Bravely again she took life's burden up. 
Hope flowered once more ; she had not drained the cup 
Of bitter vintage to its turbid lees. 
She and her escort started as the breeze 
Of early evening swept the fragrant glades 
And waved the banners o'er long colonnades, 
Ruffled the citron blooms and filled the air 
With cool perfume and freshness everywhere ; 
Bathed with its dews the earth and purged the sky; 
Soothed the hot valleys with its wandering sigh ; 
Fluttered the folds of shawls and turbans loose 
And froliced in the billowy white burnous ; 
The languid city fanned with healing breath — 
Ay, even awoke the pulse benumbed of death. 



39 




ERVANTS and slaves upon the camels laid 
The tents and baggage; others were arrayed 
To take the journey, sitting on the packs 
Lashed either side or on the mounded backs ; 
And, as a guard, to rearward and before 
Some twenty warriors on white camels bore 
Lances or muskets, and each hump around 
Bright shawls and broidered saddle-cloths were bound. 




ROM out the gate the ordered camels passed : 
They left the hills behind — then travelled fast 
Across the waste, whose open length was soon 
O'er lanterned by the lemon-colored moon. 



The guards from time to time their challenge sent 

To plodding footmen on their passage bent 

Unto the city ; who when questioned said 

"We are but home-bound miners ;" some they stayed. 

The last of these some moments ; at demand 

Why they were journeying in that lonely land. 

These answered humbly, they had carried out 

Into the distant desert thereabout 

A corpse ; 'twas of a man who, raving mad, 

Had died in prison ; this of what it had 

Of worth they'd stripped : lo, now but from their toil, 



40 



With their sad recompense of wretclied spoil. 
The captain forward turned his camel's head 
And told his lady what these men had said. 



AUGHT further marked their travel ; all next day 
They camped ; at evening took again their way ; 
And when at length arose the second sun 
They left the desert, their long journey done ; 
And to the village straight their lady brought 
Where dwelt the famed astrologer she sought. 





HE gifts bestowed, with courtesies exchanged, 
A visit for the lady was arranged 
To the mysterious man. His house was small 
And undistinguished; but within the wall 
Was a rich room where he received his guest; 
There hung a time-piece with quaint signs impressed ; 
An astrolabe with Chaldic figures stood 
Which told of wandering stars each varying mood. 
Wrought in Egyptian land; a conjurer's crook 
Leaned on a table ; in a crypt-like nook 
Lay yellow parchments piled. The languid wife 



41 



Wistfully eyed the man of learned life ; 

A sage sedate, a form of mark and note 

In Iran, where the beggar's frowsy coat 

Clothes often king-like men; his tall black cap 

And ample flowing robe of camlet nap 

Were of the finest, and his brow and eye 

Majestic; for through gazing on the sky 

And pondering deeply o'er its mystic lore 

He much of its sublime expression wore. 

Full to the waist, wide down the massive chest, 

His sable beard swept o'er his saffron vest, 

Lending grave dignity and benignant grace. 

Softening the stern lines of his thoughtful face. 

There stands a proverb long in Eastern ken. 

That "no men should wear beards but Persian men." 




HE sad-faced lady come to seek his aid, 
Took courage as his features she surveyed. 
Calm, courteous, wise, he seemed; she told him 
all 

Was needful to the purpose ; voiced the thrall 
And endless hunger of her heart, and, too, 
Briefly her history ; for she saw he knew 
Much of the strivings of tried souls ; yes. he 

42 



Was deeply schooled in the philosophy 

And poetry of Iran and the East. 

He soothed her famished spirit with a feast 

Of well-culled verses, wrought for counsel by 

Strong hearts to comfort life's extremity, 

Down from the words of Solomon the Wise 

To the star-gazer poet, who now lies 

In her own city in unchanging rest, 

The clods and burial stones across his breast. 




HE words of counsel past, ere she her way 

Took thence, he told her he, the following day, 
The issue of his searchings of the night 
Would send her. She too watched the twinkling 
light 
Of stars, that through the heavens unswerving kept 
Their doomful path. Beneath them mortals slept 
As though no seeds of fate within them lay. 
Keepers of how many secrets they 
Of human lives, revealers of how few, 
Though their eternal witness fronts our view ! 
Alas, they did not to her soul impart 
That one had called her "Star-of-Selim's-Heart.'' 



i'6 




EXT morn in scented silk the missive came : 
"TO the Most High and Honorable Dame, 
Moon to the Shadow-of-the-S ultan s-H and , 
Fairest of all the fair of Persian land! 
In name of Allah whom the faithful call 
The Mercifid, Victorious, Chief of All: 
The Stars, O Lady, speak the truth, tho' man 
Not always may their mystic answer scan; 
Thrice have I read to-night the face of Heaven 
And thrice to me this answer hath been given, 
'These silent zvords of fate and mystery : 
'A FUGHT OF ravi:ns!' 

May it rest with thee, 
O Lady, to interpret them aright. 
And may they throw upon thy darkness light 
According to thy heart; and may the peace 
Of Allah, zvho alone gives souls increase. 
Be shown to Thee. This is the prayer devout 
Of him, the unzvorthiest of thy servants; doubt 
Not He zvill send thee grace. 

Written by the hand 
Of Hassan of the Astrolabe, to command.' 



44 



)}) 



HE, bearing these words with her, now began 
Her homeward journey, pondering; still ran 
Her thoughts along one line ; her mind was bent 
Upon the answer of the stars, that went 

Ever before her like a vision blest. 

Guiding her to her solace and her quest. 





T w^as the chill and silent time of night 
Before the rose-crowned, pearly-vestured Light 
Loops joyance round the world ; mysterious hour 
When Azrael comes with all his awful power 
To loose the souls of men and women old 
Erom their worn bodies, and in numbing fold 
The fluttering spirit wTaps and bears away 
To realms of utter midnight or of day. 




HE camel-train paced slowly; rose the dust 
As each broad foot into the sand was thrust, 
And fell again full quickly, beaten down 
By the damp air; a distant eastward frown 
Against the sky betokened hills; the sun 
Beyond the shade-land soon prepared to run 
His course; the watchful guards from time to time 



45 



Turned in their saddles to behold him climb 
The hill-tops; o'er the desert's lonely gray 
Paling for leagues beyond, the film of day 
Pressed a faint outline; an uneven spur, 
Dimly defined against the mist-like blur, 
Breaking the outline, showed them Naishapur. 




S the broad sun flamed o'er the hills again, 
Startled by that or by the camel-train, 
A clamorous flight of birds upon one hand 
Trailed from some object on the distant sand. 
The lady, resting in uneasy sleep, 
Awoke as o'er her swished the bustling sweep 
Of wings, and from her litter watched them float. 
Ominous and black, against the heaven remote. 
New-lighted by the half-way risen sun, 
Which o'er the pallid sky his splendor spun. 
Flush to her mind, as from the written page. 
There rushed the words of the star-gazing sage, — 
*'A flight of ravens ;" straight she waved her hand 
And gave the captain of the train command 
She must at once be carried to the place 
Whence rose the birds of omen ; with ill grace 
He turned to do her will, for now would day 

46 



The naked desert scourge with burning ray. 

The slow procession wheeled, the distance spanned, 

And lo, a skeleton bleaching on the sand ! 




FAIREST lady," cried the chief in tones 
Sore vext, "Let Allah hear me ; 'tis but bones 
Of some wayfarer, slain or gone astray 
Here in the desert; others for a prey 



Than these same birds have found him; doth abide 
With him no coin, nor weapon at his side." 



N name of Allah, Merciful and Just, 

Some of you men dismount and straightway 

thrust 
Around him ; search each bit of cloth and bone 



And see if aught about him may be known. 




N WILLINGLY, and cursing the delay 
Among themselves, they slowly did obey. 
They lifted with their spears each ragged clout, 
And with their muskets shoved the bones about. 



47 




OTHING, fair lady, nothing,"' cried the chief, 
Climbing across his saddle with relief; 
Then set the train in motion, well content 
To quit their tarrying. Soon thereafter went 
Unto the litter one who lingered late. 
No w^ord he said, but with a smile sedate 
Handed his lady a sere, tiny thing 
Of white and yellow bone. Round it a ring 
Or shred of brass, tight-twisted, bore along 
Each edge, at intervals, impression strong, 
Irregular, a little whorl, wdiich she 
Caught at as from the man of mystery. 
She placed it in the hollow of her hand 
And gazed and gazed, till in the slender band 
Of brass she knew the token — yes, the day 
That she on Selim's finger in her play 
Had twisted it ! again the constant gaze 
Which searched her footsteps through the market ways; 
Again the dream, the hope, the flushed surprise 
That starred with love those dark and thoughtful eyes. 




O this, then, he had come! Ay, well, — alas! 
She knew the tiny pattern on the brass, 
And all in tears she scanned it ; he had said, 
She now remembered — in his little shed — 



48 



He, poor dead Selim, her lone worshipper, — 
The tool that made it, save on gift for her, 
Should not be used ; yes, he whose bones now lie 
Strewing the sand, beneath the pitiless sky. 
All save this one, this small ringed finger bone, 
Relic of sacred love, hers, hers alone ! 
The one cold token of the constant flame 
That burned within his breast. O hour of shame ! 
This dry white bone reproached her ! Witness now 
Poor dumb starved heart the fervor of her vow ! 
Witness her tears and kisses and her head 
Bent o'er this voiceless pleader for the dead. 
Laid now upon her soft grief-burdened breast. 
There, while that heart should beat with life, to rest. 




HE lusty sun stared fiercely, free and high, 
When they had reached the city. The blue sk)' 
Shone dazzling clear, save where some fine- 
combed clouds 
vStraggled across ; as they were souls in shrouds 
Speeding to heaven : or travellers single-file, 
IMoving apart, as though in fear of guile. 
Wrapping their parching bodies from the glare 
And dusty highway. The zenana's air 
Unto The v'^tar-of-Selim's-Hcart was cool 

49 



And comforting, as, fresh from out the pool 

Of perfumed water on the rich divan 

She lay, and o'er her waved an Indian fan 

Held by a favorite maid. The silken door 

Opened, two little girls between them bore 

A shrouded present, which by high command. 

Her lord's, The Shadow-of-the-Sultan's-Hand, 

On her return be given her. Listlessly 

She loosed the first silk wrappings — paused — for she 

Saw surely 'twas some growth of royal art, 

Even such a love-work as some loyal heart 

Like Selim's might have pledged her. She unwound 

The silk with wakened care, in thought profound. 

Oh, miracle of genius proud and pure! 

He promised her such a gift ; alas ! how poor 

The man who loved her was ; she had not cared 

For him or his — ah, heaven, had he been spared ! 

Selim's own self this wonder might have wrought — 

Selim's sweet self, had he not come to naught. 

It wronged, insulted him ; for daily need 

Had bound that hand from such a lavish deed. 

Faint murniurings were thronging in her ears ; 

She watched it glimmering through her mist of tears ; 

Seen midst them, the entrancing, matchless thing 

Loomed indistinct, gigantic, wavering. 

50 




S her tears fell she wiped them fast awa}^; 

Then seeing more clearly, something bade her 
lay 

Grasp on the brazen vessel, while her gaze 
Grew fixed, grew all excitement, all amaze ; 
Then "gainst her breast she strained it with a sob; 
And as her heart, rallying with mighty throb, 
Shook deep her being all her loosened hair 
Enshrined the perfume-holder like a prayer. 
There — there — deep-graved the proof of matchless love! 
Each scrolled and burnished strip of brass above, 
Upon each ornamental fillet's round, 
The same fine-patterned tiny whorl was found! 
The same with which his finger, once, she bruised 
And fastened — from the die herself had used! 




ES, Selim's gift had come to her — his love 
Had found her after death ; ay, there above, 
Even in the distant realms of bliss, new cheer 
Must come to him ; had she not grown more near 
Unto his spirit though his outcast bones 
Lay whitening on the desert's sands and stones — 
All save this finger token ? But there — look ! 
Graved on the brass his words, the open book 

51 



Of SelinVs love — the words he never said 
In Hfe — his faithful message from the dead ! 

"Dove of my soul, thou zvhite and zuondrous dove, 
My Heaven is zvith thee, nor did Allah's love 
Ever send Peri unto suffering earth 
Fair as thou art, O lily of fragrant birth! 
Star of love's sky, rise pure and dzi^ell apart 
To sanctity the flozver-land of my heart. 
Behold the first fruits of my pledge to thee; 
Queen of my dreams, he merciful to me." 




HAT evening, from the spot the camel-train 
Had halted on when day broke o'er the plain, 
Saw the same sun, soft-barred with roseate 
streaks, 

Dying away between the western peaks ; 
And as he sank from view the low sweet breath 
Of twilight sighed above the day-god's death, 
But swelled at night and through the star-lit space 
A requiem swayed across the desert's face ; 
And as it wailed its dreary, weird refrain 
Along the hills and o'er the barren plain. 
Cast heavy handfuls of soft sand where lay 

52 



A dead man's bones — and when the eye of day 
Searched for them. lo. the desert held its trust. 
Folded forever in its shroud of dust. 



XD in the night that breeze with plaintive sigh 
Breathed through the lonely latticed turret high 
That pinnacled a palace: wandering there. 
Entered a dim-lit chamber, strewing rare 
Spiced odors forth along the midnight air 
From a brass perfume-holder — such sweet breath 
As rises scarcelv at a monarch"s death. 




XD in that silence a pale, tearful-eyed 

Woman inhaled the perfume — watched it glide 
Toward the desert : on her heaving breast 
One trembling hand she laid : beneath it pressed 
A silken case, which hid a little bone 
And shred of hammered brass . . . 

Xo more is knozva. 




53 



FED 8 1913 



